


Sparks

by Hopie (hopiecat)



Category: Magic Kaitou, Meitantei Conan | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: AU, M/M, Older Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopiecat/pseuds/Hopie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saguru can't concentrate on work today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> Based on headcanon crafted through roleplay with a friend. Saguru's a little older here, and he's working full time at the police department, whereas Kaito has taken up the Kuroba family business (the other, legal business) and become a magician. Critique very much welcome!

The Tokyo Police Department was in utter chaos. As far as regular days went, this was a step down from the norm – so far, nobody had even attempted to throw the new guy down a flight of stairs by unintentionally whacking him out of the way with a file-folder on the way to the Criminal Affairs department and the cafeteria was actually quiet for once. 

Saguru strongly suspected that he’d taken a wrong turn on the road and wound up in Meguro, but the nameplate and the stack of manila folders on his desk laid waste to that theory in a second. With a sigh, he set down his briefcase and sat down. 

He pulled over the first report and started to read – murder case in Hokkaido, a woman found cut in half, signs on her wrists showed—a new detective stuck his head around the door (cap off, which wasn’t against regulations but strictly recommended) and the window banged twice in the wind – that she’d been tied to the railway tracks – “Detective Hakuba, you want some coffee?”

“No thanks,” he said without looking up, frowning as though he could scare his concentration into sticking onto the page (junior detective looked put out, he was probably one of the trainees from the school), “I’m rather busy.” 

Bang, the window again. He’d been on the second paragraph, line twelve from the top, on the first letter of the suspect’s name. 

“Hakuba, I need your signature on these—“ Shinichi, ten minutes late, ruffled, he reeked of pine soap. Saguru bet he was wearing sunglasses tilted down his nose and Heiji Hattori’s favourite hat. 

“Yes, alright,” he said, scribbling on the indicated line and glancing up just in time to see the hat and the sunglasses.

Shinichi wrinkled his nose, “don’t you know better to sign things without reading them?”

“I’ll take the risk, the worst that could happen is I end up on lunch duty with the trainees again,” said Saguru wearily, looking up from the file again to give the detective his best beseeching look. Shinichi’s steadily rising brows telegraphed that the message had been seen and utterly thwarted. Bugger. He couldn’t foist this case on him, then. 

“I am not taking the trainees again,” Shinichi warned him, flipping the cover of the folder to read the case name.

“It’s misspelled,” he said, “that’s supposed to be a ‘K’.”

“Ah, the Hokkaido train case. I thought you finished this one?” Pages in one hand, Shinichi leaned against his desk, making the pencil pot wobble unsteadily. 

You do a very nice job of looking out for Hattori, Saguru thought, sticking his pen in with the rest. “Something isn’t right. I was trying to read over it and see that everything fit. There’s a bit that doesn’t quite go with everything else.”

Shinichi shrugged. 

Sound of a revving motorcycle—and like clockwork, Shinichi’s head snapped towards the window and he stood up from Saguru’s desk, taking half a step towards it before remembering where he was and stopping, stiffening. 

“.. I must get back to work,” said Shinichi, hurriedly and with little conviction. He left the room almost jogging. 

“You cannot be more transparent,” Saguru called after his retreating back and looked at the file dubiously. It didn’t seem like he should attempt to do more today – his earlier assumption that the department was relatively quiet had clearly been wrong. If he could get through just this case, though, find something that would get that damned prosecutor off his back and alleviate his conscious (while you’re at it, try and find the secrets of the universe) then it would be a good day.

Yes, it would be a good day. He was going to do this. 

Standing up determinedly, he walked over to his office door and closed it. After a few seconds’ deliberation, he tucked a spare chair – a horrible, metal-backed thing from the downstairs hall, used only for concerts and large-scale budget meetings – beneath the doorknob and went back to his desk prepared to work his fingers to the bone. 

Twenty minutes later, the phone rang, and Saguru was still on line twelve from the top, paragraph two, and nowhere nearer to getting any further than the suspect’s name’s fist letter. He tapped for intercom and, without taking his eyes off the file, barked, “yes?”

Warm, smoky laughter rippled through the speaker. “My, my tantei-san, is this how you get when you’re working? You sound all stressed and rough… makes me wish I was there with you.” 

Even over the phone, it was hard to escape the wonderful image that painted. Shifting uncomfortably (and flipping the file closed because he did not want to get a reputation as the man who looked at pictures of mauled women while aroused) Saguru tried, and failed, to keep his voice official. It was a good attempt, but ultimately, fondness crept in between the letters. 

“Kaito, I am busy,” that was the official part, and then, “... though it’s not like I’m managing to do much. It’s one of those days, I’m afraid. How are you, my darling?”

“Naked,” confided Kaito, and the air in the room boiled. 

“That’s, um... well, yes...” 

He could all but hear Kaito’s grin through the phone. The man was probably still in bed, sheets wrapped around him (twenty-four point scarlet Egyptian cotton) and his hair still messy from sleep, his eyes that cloudy midnight blue. Hand gripping the cellphone. The other hand, well—Saguru bit his lip. This really was not the time, he had so much work to do—

“...So, busy day today, darling?”

On the other end, he imagined Kaito sighing, pouting at the bait he’d laid being ignored. There was a rustle of sheets (God, please don’t have him rolling over in our bed all alone) and Kaito’s voice came a little clearer. Where was he holding the phone? ...Don’t answer that. 

“Not really. I was bored. I wanted to hear your voice. You left without waking me up again.”

“You were sleeping so deeply, I couldn’t bear waking you. I did leave you a note, though.”

“You left a poem,” Kaito giggled, another rustle of sheets, another thin line of sweat gathered at the base of Saguru’s neck, “you left a novel. And I find it really, really cute, tantei-san, that you leave ‘I love you’ in notes if you can’t say it to me.”

“It’s rather important that you know I love you, otherwise I fear you may take my threats to string you up by your thumbs if you make my clothes disappear to be serious.” They are partly serious, but only when my favourite tie is involved. A man had to have standards, after all.

He really wanted to be at home. 

This wasn’t usual for him. Saguru liked his work. On a bad day, he’d still think his job was the greatest job in the world. But today was one of those hot, grumbling summer days, and his mind wouldn’t focus on black ink and white lines, and he had a very nagging wish to know just what Kaito was doing at home. All that sheet-rustling couldn’t have been faked. On top of that, he couldn’t even remember the last time he had a day off. 

You haven’t had one in four years, remember? Right, right, when he’d taken a personal day to drive Chikage and Kaito to the airport, yes. It had been raining. The twenty-fifth of January.

“Darling, do you have much work to do today?” he asked, cutting in in the middle of Kaito’s ‘I was thinking of making—‘ food rant. 

Pause. Kaito probably thinks there’s something wrong. Saguru tapped a pen on the pen pot, looking between the file and the phone. Someone outside his office was talking about a night out on the town; the girls were apparently ‘hot’. He wondered what the girlfriend would think, decided it was none of his business, and put the pen down. 

“Not much,” the magician answered cautiously, “why?”

“I have one urgent thing to solve here, but then I have a surprise for you. Okay? I can’t wait to see you later.” 

“Wh- you’re taking a day off?! Without requesting it four weeks in advance?” This time, the sheets didn’t rustle, they crackled, and he imagined Kaito struggling off the bed. “Is something wrong? Saguru—“

“Nothing’s wrong, darling. I have to go now, though. Love you.”

“... Alright. Alright. Love you too.” Kaito hung up before he could touch the button. 

Sighing glumly, he put the phone back into the receiver and cracked his knuckles irritably. Opening the file folder again, he bent his head over it and started reading. 

* * *

The lure sex held for modern man never failed to astound Saguru. It existed in his field as well – crimes of passion, they were called. The general theory behind the movement was that passion and sex tapped into the primal forms of a man, and made him operate in bizarre ways. This was not for all men, of course, but for a hefty majority of them. 

In his case, the lure of sex and the even bigger lure of seeing Kaito had him breezing through the case and dropping it on Shinichi’s desk exactly fourteen minutes and fifty three seconds after he’d started it. Shinichi looked up from a crowded desk, his brows drawing together into a line at the inclusion of yet another manila folder to the mountain of manila folders, and said, “what’s this?”

“Look it over,” said Saguru, already at the door, “and send it to the prosecutor. I think we made a mistake.” A junior detective waved at him; he waved back half-heartedly, one foot beyond the doorjamb, his body turned mostly outwards, “I’m taking the rest of the day as personal, alright?”

“Why—oh.” Shinichi’s eyes rolled heavily ceiling-wards, and he held up a hand, “nevermind. But you’re covering for me next Monday. With the train—“

“Deal,” said Saguru, making for the elevator. 

Shinichi stared at the open door and stood up. He watched the detective – an outsider partly due to his impressive six-foot-two size, partly due to his broad build, but mostly due to the ragged tan trenchcoat he wore which he had worn every day even if Shinichi couldn’t remember all of them – duck into the elevator and shook his head. 

“Sometimes, the man is an ape,” he said aloud, and went back to his desk to check the file. 

Later on, he conceded that, ape or not, Saguru was still the best in his field, and didn’t that just make him want to drink?

* * *

It wasn’t just sex. 

Kaito Kuroba would never be just sex. If anything, Kaito was the thing that gave sex importance, because why else would he be pinned in traffic, with a box of chocolates expensive enough to take out a loan for, half a dozen white roses and a reservation to the rooftop restaurant of the NewOtani hotel in Tokyo? Sex wasn’t an important enough incentive. There had to be more to make a man act crazy. 

He manoeuvred around a loaded schoolbus and gunned the engine for home. The highway stretched out like a ribbon, empty for all of five minutes before traffic started to gather in the distance again. Slowing appropriately (the man next to him was driving a Subaru, 2001, and he’d run through a red light) Saguru tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and changed the radio channel. Music was making him jumpy; classical was no music for a car ride. 

The temperature today is twenty four---

“Bugger that,” said Saguru, switching off the radio. 

No, sex wasn’t enough. 

What was enough, though, was the feeling he got when he saw Kaito. It was a truly unique experience – a sort of free-fall, except his feet were planted firmly on the ground and he was pretty certain that his heart wouldn’t defibrillate like that in a free-fall (it would most likely beat over ninety, but not more) and he was also rather certain that his stomach wouldn’t wobble the way it did when Kaito flashed him that quick, genuine smile. The one that crinkled his eyes at the corner, and made him seem so young, so shy. The one he’d worn in that roof garden years ago (ten years, forty days and three hours to the dot) when Saguru asked if he could kiss him. 

It was that spark that could drive a man crazy, nothing more. That electricity in the blood, that pounding need in the veins. Almost like a drug addiction, but not quite as... actually, no. It was that dangerous, too. 

Ten more minutes to home. He pushed thirty in a forty-five zone, watched out of the corner of his eye as the man in the Subaru was tailed by a traffic warden. The woman on his other side had three screaming kids in the car, one of which was waving a DS at the other two; their ages were approximately six, two and thirteen. The woman looked frazzled. Night time job. This is a daytrip. 

The temperature is more than twenty four degrees, he thought, and pulled into the driveway with a sigh of barely-concealed relief. And he hadn’t made the trip in ten minutes; he’d shaved off four by pressing a little harder on the accelerator than was strictly necessary, which perfectly corroborated his theory on how that bundle of emotions played into the whole ‘driving men crazy’ thing. 

Grabbing the roses and the chocolates, Saguru closed the car door with his hip and stepped over the azaleas lining the pathway. He smelled coffee, fresh-brewed, and clean cotton sheets and glitter adhered to rubber, and everything was very still at home. The noise and bustle of Tokyo and traffic didn’t reach to here. 

Neighbours are out—fumbling with the key—no complaining today. 

Nudging the door open, he left the roses and the chocolates on the sofa and went straight to the kitchen, where he found Kaito at the stove. The thief was stirring something which smelled like vanilla and chocolate (hot chocolate again) and Saguru couldn’t help but grin. 

Moving up behind him, he laid his lips gently on the back of his neck and felt the sigh Kaito made as a pulse in his blood. 

“Mmm... you actually came home,” Kaito sounded very surprised, and also very pleased. Which was more endearing, he didn’t know. 

“I wanted to spend the day with you,” Saguru’s hands found Kaito’s hips, settled there; the magician grinded back slowly, pressing awake the persistent throbbing low in his belly that had been annoying him since he’d left his office, “I wanted to be here. God, I’ve missed you.”

“You were only gone for two hours,” the magician tapped the spoon on the edge of the bowl, lifted to lick it.

“Doesn’t matter,” Saguru shook his head, slipping his hand around to take Kaito’s chin, turning his head slightly for a kiss, “two hours feels like an age without you.”

Ah, there it was; a pretty pink blush, stretching from cheek to cheek. 

He kissed off the chocolate hanging to the corner of Kaito’s mouth and smiled. 

“So, you were talking about being naked?” he asked mischievously, slipping his hands up Kaito’s shirt and digging his fingers into his ribs. With an ungainly squeak, the magician flew from his grasp, making for the door. 

He let him run, turning off the stove while footsteps pounded on the staircase. A pair of pants – Kaito’s, from last night – fell over the banister. 

He didn’t even hear the grumble of the truck outside, or the whistling phone, didn’t pay any attention to the hundred and one other things that were going on. 

That was another reason why it was more than sex with Kaito. 

Everything else, big, small, important and not, did not exist when he was around him.


End file.
